


on a knife’s edge

by wollfgang



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fics [17]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt Lucifer, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post S2, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 12:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16872702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wollfgang/pseuds/wollfgang
Summary: “Lucifer?” knocking on his bathroom door. It swings open. She peers inside. It takes her brain a moment to register what she’s looking at, because it’simpossible, it should be impossible. Lucifer is curled up on the floor with massive white wings splayed out behind him. It shocking enough that it takes her a moment to even register the blood. And oh, god.Theblood.There’s so much of it, spilled down his back, pooled on the floor. It’s on his wings, on his hands and arms, dotted on the walls. He’s got one of Maze’s knives clenched in his white-knuckled hand, and she finally understands what she’s looking at.He’s trying to cut them off.





	on a knife’s edge

**Author's Note:**

> noratalvit asked: #56 plz *v* I need some Lucifer whump cause I don't think we can get it from the actual show :( And that's what prompts and fanfics for!

**He’s back.**

Chloe stares at the text message from Maze with shock. There’s no further explanation, nothing else stated. Maze doesn’t respond to any of her subsequent messages. Chloe hesitates for a moment, then deciding, grabs her keys and drives to Lux. 

The club is completely empty, not a soul in sight. Everything is dark, but the doors are unlocked when she pulls it. She takes the elevator upstairs to the top floor. She steps out into the apartment. It’s quiet in the way that makes her police instincts prickle. 

She didn’t grab her gun. Why would she have needed to? But now she’s sorely missing the weight of it at her side and her hand rests over empty air. 

“Lucifer?” she calls. 

Chloe listens carefully only to hear a low moan coming from his bathroom. It doesn’t sound like the fun kind either. It sounds pained. She walks slowly forward, her heartbeat loud in her ears as she breathes open mouthed and silent. “Lucifer?” she asks again. Her boot lands into something sticky. She looks down and sees a puddle of blood, dark on the hardwood. Her breath catches and she hurriedly follows the trail up the stairs and into his bedroom. The blood trails down the hall and under the bathroom door. 

“Lucifer?” knocking on his bathroom door. It swings open. She peers inside. It takes her brain a moment to register what she’s looking at, because it’s _impossible_ , it should be impossible. Lucifer is curled up on the floor with massive white wings splayed out behind him. It shocking enough that it takes her a moment to even register the blood. And oh, god. 

The _blood_.

There’s so much of it, spilled down his back, pooled on the floor. It’s on his wings, on his hands and arms, dotted on the walls. He’s got one of Maze’s knives clenched in his white-knuckled hand, and she finally understands what she’s looking at. 

He’s trying to cut them off. 

One wing is nearly severed, hanging on by mere tendons and ribbons of flesh. The other remains largely intact, but the surrounding skin is littered with lacerations, testament to either Lucifer’s frustration or lack of aim from blood loss as his attempts degraded. He’s reaching back, trying to angle the blade where the flight muscles flow into his back, but his arm trembles.

Chloe drops to her knees in horror, heedless of the carnage. She knocks the knife from his hand. It skitters across the tile and hits the cabinet. Then she’s grabbing towels, pressing them to the sliced flesh, putting as much pressure as she dares.

“No, don’t -” he attempts, thrashing weakly in her grip and then biting off a scream as his wings attempt to flap. 

“Lucifer. Lucifer, _stop,_ ” she says, voice choked.

“I want them gone, please, Detective,” he begs. “Maze won’t - so I had to. I _had_ to - I won’t let him manipulate me.” He sounds frantic. “I can’t - I _can’t-_ ” 

“Shut _up_ ,” she snarls, tears tracking hot down her face. She knots a towel around the more damaged wing and presses against the skin of his back with another one, leaning her whole body weight forward for pressure. His eyelids flutter, whites showing, teetering on the verge of unconsciousness. “Don’t you dare die on me,” she says. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Chloe, I’m so sorry.”

“You can be sorry later,” she tells him. After she shoot him in his other leg for scaring her like this.

His bathroom is luxurious by most standards, but it’s still cramped between the two of them and his huge wings. She gets his arm over her shoulders and hauls him upright, gritting her teeth as he screams hoarsely. The wings drag behind him, useless.

She walks him to the bed and somehow manages to get him on it, face down, the wings flopping with him. He weeps brokenly into his pillow, suffering and sorrow, both. She looks at the mess of his back, what he’s done to himself and has no idea what to do, no idea how to help him. He has _wings_. 

She doesn’t have much time to dither. The towels are already soaked through with red. With no further options presenting itself, she calls Amenadiel.

Amenadiel, when he arrives, looks even more horrified than she does. Lucifer has passed out by this point, pain or blood loss, Chloe doesn’t even know. She’s been trying to maintain pressure against the wounds as best she can, but she’s so far beyond her depth it isn’t even funny.

“Brother, what have you done?” he asks quietly and slowly removes the towels to examine the extent Lucifer has hurt his wings.

He looks Lucifer over with gentle, expert hands. When Amenadiel finishes, he looks grim. “They’re healing,” he announces and Chloe almost wants to cry in relief. “But I don’t know if he will be able to fly again. The damage is… Considerable.” He shakes his head. “I would tell you to leave so he can heal faster, but it won’t make a difference with this. Demon blades against the divine.” 

Chloe laughs a bit hysterically. “Yeah, let’s pretend any of that made sense.”

Amenadiel gives her an empathetic look. “I’ll need to get him cleaned up. You don’t have to stay,” he tells her softly.

“In for a penny,” Chloe says, but looks determined. She’s not leaving him. 

Together, they wash Lucifer up as best they can, almost Lux’s entire stock of towels sacrificed in the attempt. With the skin of his back wiped clean, Chloe can see the slow crawl of the cuts healing. She rubs down his wing with a warm, damp towel, pausing to stroke the feathers. They shift a little under her touch and seem to shine.

They’re beautiful, but Lucifer had looked at them with fear and revulsion. He was desperate and crazed in his attempt to rid himself of them. Seeing him now, sleeping with his great feathery limbs spread, he looks holy, inhuman. She wonders if she made the right choice.

“Interesting,” Amenadiel remarks, startling her. He takes her hand and guides them to where the wing is struggling to reconnect to Lucifer’s back. It seems to revitalize under her touch, glowing softly and visibly healing.

“What…?” Chloe breathes. 

“It seems you make him more mortal, but also more divine.” Amenadiel seems equally aghast. She brings up her other hand and watches as the flesh and feather slowly knit back together.

*

Lucifer wakes slowly, agonizingly. Pain cuts down his back, his arms and chest ache. He forces himself to sit upright and looks down at the bandages across his torso in confusion. He looks over his shoulders to see both his wings wrapped in gauze at their bases. 

They’re still there.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It hurts every time he breathes, a bone deep stabbing sensation, but not as much as it should have. Not with what he had done. He staggers to his feet, catching himself against the wall, unused to the heavy weight of his wings behind him. Pain lances down his spine and he tries to breathe through it, darkness fuzzing the edges of his vision.

He needs a drink.

He stumbles out into the open area and halts when he sees Chloe and Amenadiel sitting in the living room area. Amenadiel is nose deep in a book and Chloe is sipping something that smells like tea, staring out the window. They both look over at him in surprise.

“You’re supposed to stay in bed!” Chloe objects and sets her cup down. She makes her way over to him and carefully places her hands against his chest, pushing him back towards his room.

“What?” he says dumbly. Still, he complies, mostly out of bewilderment. She gets him settled back into bed, propping his wings up with pillows so that they rest without strain. He watches with a numb sort of horror. Chloe is here. Chloe saw what he had done, walking in on him nearly killing himself in an effort to amputate his wings.

Amenadiel brings him a bowl of what must be chicken noodle soup. “Eat, brother,” he rumbles soothingly. “You need your strength.” 

One whiff of it and Lucifer realizes he’s ravenous. He’s slurping down hot soup without a second thought, pausing only when Chloe presents him with a cup of tea sweetened with honey. She absentmindedly strokes a finger down a feather and he halts. There’s a cooling rush of healing trickling from her contact.

“Chloe,” Lucifer says, voice raw. 

She smiles at him, small and sad. Pain was the last thing he wanted to cause her. “It’s okay. Just rest and heal. We’ll have a lot to talk about afterwards,” she tells him. 

He quickly connects the dots. “You saved them,” he says, lifting his wings slightly. It hurts, but it shouldn’t be possible at all with the damage he had inflicted upon them. She nods, and he can’t read her expression, but it seems wary. Oh, she’s not sure if he’s upset with her.

Lucifer pauses for a moment to try and sort out how he feels. He’d wanted them gone so badly. All he could focus on was how angry and hurt he was. He should have stopped when Maze refused to aid him. He’d been furious and hasty and the demon blade had been _right there_. But now that he’s here, in the light of morning, with Chloe at his side and his wings still attached - well, he could cry with gratitude. 

He reaches out and grips her free hand tightly. “Thank you,” he says fervently, trying to impart just how deeply he means it. She grips back just as tightly. 

“You’re welcome,” she says. “Now, finish your soup. You need to get better so I can kick your ass, Morningstar.” 

He grins and obnoxiously slurps at the broth.


End file.
